Verian Larcius, Imperial Fist
by Valius 926
Summary: Set during the Horus Heresy, prior to the betrayal being revealed, a detachment of the Imperial Fists legion are dispatched to Aretus Beta as part of a diplomatic mission though things are not what they seem.
1. Just a soldier

_It is the 31st Millennium, towards the end of the Great Crusade. With the Primarchs and the Legio Astartes, the Emperor has travelled the galaxy reuniting the scattered civilisations of Man under a single banner. After retiring from the Great Crusade, the Emperor has called the Imperial Fist Legion to return to Terra to fortify the cradle of Man and to act as his praetorians. As the VIIth Legion make their way back to Terra, a call for assistance causes Primarch Rogal Dorn to dispatch a strike force to Aretus Beta to resolve the tension there. This is the story of Captain Verian Larcius, Captain of the Imperial Fists' XXth Company, his conflict against the forces of Nurgle on Aretus Beta, the brother Astartes of the Iron Warriors Legion and finally his participation in the Battle for Terra. _

1: Just a soldier

Pain was all around him, within him. Every nerve in his body was set alight, causing his muscles to spasm and his insides churn with the effort of remaining impassive. Darkness closed in all around him, threatening to swallow him up and pull him into its chill embrace forever, and it took all his mental will not to succumb. To succumb would be to admit defeat, to let the weaker part of his being win over his mind. It would be to betray the essence of his legion. It was to betray himself, his primarch, Lord Rogal Dorn and above all, the Emperor.

His world was black, interspaced with visions of his long forgotten past. A small boy held a battered sword, taking practice swipes at a man made of wood and straw, falling over as the weight of it overbalanced him. A youth stood with a number of others, watching as the older students duelled in mock combat, the ring of blunted blades reverberating off the walls of the training halls. A grown warrior knelt before a giant in burnished yellow plate as his initiation into their exalted ranks began. The small boy turned giant fought alongside others like him, clad in armour and wielding bolter and chainsword against all manner of foes, war and death searing his flesh over and over.

A weaker mind would break. Endless hours of agony stretched on infinitely with no sign of release in sight. But his was no ordinary mind. Years…decades of mental training steeled his mind against the pain. There were greater things to fear than an eternity of torment; failure, defeat… He let the pain seep into him, flow through his veins and draw strength from it, to focus his mind and harden his will. His eyes opened. He swam to the surface of the darkness. Pain sought to grip him, hold him back but his ascension was unstoppable. He was a servant of the Emperor, a warrior to crusade across the galaxy and bring it order to that which was in chaos. He was a son of Dorn, the champion of the Emperor, built of iron and stone. He was Verian Larcius, Captain of the Twentieth Company of the Imperial Fists Astartes Legion.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The pain glove hissed and parted, the neural wires retracting from his body, the pain slowly receding now the machine had been turned off. Verian slid from its embrace and powered it down. The counter read ten hours, glowing red runes illuminating the dark chamber. Around the room, a number of other Imperial Fists lay, enfolded in pain gloves, bodies occasionally jerking as intense surges of pain spiked through their systems. It was one of the Fists' longer traditions; to give oneself over to the devices in order to overcome the weakness that inhibited lesser warriors. It focused the mind and steeled the body, taught it to push its limits and resist where others would fall. He shrugged his shoulders to loosen them out and then made for the door. The battle barge would be breaking system soon and he had to prepare his arms and armour before then.

On the way, he caught a glimpse of himself in one of the polished gunmetal walls. He turned, studying the man before him. He was tall, broad in the shoulder, muscled and toned from a strict regime of training. Scars criss-crossed his forearms from combat, the rest of his body clothed in a grey tunic, concealing the wealth of other injuries his body had sustained in his long life. Though he resembled a young man around his mid-twenties, the service studs on his brow spoke of almost half a century of battle. He had the light complexion and dark hair, cropped short, of those from the southern hemisphere of Terra, where he had been recruited. His dark brown eyes were sharp and narrowed in a stern expression as he evaluated himself, a look that any number of his brothers could pull off effortlessly in the image of their lord, Dorn.

In the next chamber, the familiar sound of metal and metal greeted him. It rang off the walls as two massive warriors clad in the same plain grey tunics and pants charged a third, swords flashing as they struggled to break the lone warrior's guard. Other warriors, built along the same statue, ringed the arena, cheering on one combatant or another, roars of encouragement or disapproval as one side would gain the upper hand on the other. Despite how they behaved in the company of outsiders, the Imperial Fists knew how to laugh, to be casual around their fellow battle-brothers. The bonds of brotherhood were every bit as strong as those which bound legions like the Sons of Horus or the Space Wolves. They just knew how to act stoic and impassive when needed.

The older of the three warriors duelling smirked as the two younger ones lunged forward. He spun aside, inside the guard of the first and hammered the nearest in the solar plexus with the pommel of his sword, followed by a vicious roundhouse punch that threw his opponent crashing to the floor. The other younger warrior spun, sword flashing faster than the eye could follow, but it was stopped dead, wrist encased by the older's large fist. With a flick, his legs were swept from under him and even as he stumbled to rise, the tip of a sword was pressed to his throat. From his higher vantage point, Captain Kesian Scarus of the Thirteenth retained his smirk, one foot pinning his brother Astartes to the floor. Towering, built like a battle-tank, iron-grey hair cropped short with the frequently stern features, Kesian was a true descendent of their primarch.

Alec Aurelius, Captain of the Nineteenth, was rising uneasily to his feet from where the Kesian had floored him. Lucian Scipio, the Eighteenth company captain, grinned ruefully as the sword was removed from his neck, rubbing the point from where a trickle of blood had run, already clotted by the superhuman Astartes bio system. Now the duel was concluded, the other brothers closed in, patting the losers on the back and cheering the victor, all brother Astartes, brother Imperial Fists. Verian smiled, pushing off from the wall he'd been leaning against, walking forward as his comrades, Alec and Lucian, emerged from the mass of bodies.

"A fine performance, brothers. If Kesian had floored you any faster, one would think he'd been facing fresh neophytes than brother-captains of the Imperial Fists. I reckon Brother Herius could give him more of a challenge than you two just put up." Mock-glares aimed at him from his brothers, narrowed eyes betrayed by the curl of their lips, struggling not to smile. To another Astartes, it may have been an insult but these two had been at his side for so many years now, joined the Imperial Fists at the same time as him that such minor jests were taken as such. Alec shrugged gesturing to the taller of the two and Lucian offered his recovered sword over to Verian. "Ha… You talk big but you show us how it's done then. We'll be the ones laughing when Kesian lays you on your arse like the arrogant whelp you are."

Verian grinned, accepting the weapon and weighing it in his hands. Solid, Terran-forged steel. "Say what you will… Just watch and I'll show you how a true son of Dorn fights, neophytes." He turned from them, towards the duelling arena, the other Astartes parting to let him through, shouts of 'new challenge' surrounding him. He stopped short of Kesian, inkling his head to meet the other warrior's gaze. "Care to go again, brother?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Standing at one end of the arena, training sword resting loosely in his grip, Verian appraised the opponent standing before him. Kesian Scarus was one of the legion's most skilled swordmasters, often found sparring against the likes of First Captain Sigismund. He was broad and tall, overwhelming strength bound within his form that was only matched by his agility and swiftness in battle. He had been fighting the Emperor's wars alongside their lord Dorn since Verian's days as a lowly line soldier. Verian grinned. It would be a challenge but he relished such an opportunity. It was only by facing those greater than himself that he learnt and excelled as a result.

They circled. Verian kept his sword in a mid-guard position, eyes narrowed in concentration, waiting for the first sign of attack. It came almost too fast to follow. Almost… Verian managed to get his blade up in time, blocking a furious blow and nearly threw him off balance by the force of it. He rolled with it, coming around and parrying two more slashes to his torso, the second one only just being deflected, a thin line scoring across his chest. His arms burned with the strain of holding back the older captain's overwhelming strikes, each with the force of lightning and the sounds of metal on metal ringing like a hammer on an anvil. A series of blows followed, each as powerful as the last, as fast as the last, Verian working furiously to parry and block, the sword in his hands moving on instinct, mind given over solely to the combat.

They fought back and forth, cheers rising in a crescendo around them as battle-brothers watched intently at the swordsmanship before them. Despite being put initially on the back foot, Verian quickly altered his fighting stance, body braced for each blow and following through with lightning fast counters, some coming near to sliding through Kesian's guard. He saw an opening. He lashed out but his blade met thin air, sweeping past as Kesian evaded and slid inside his own guard, hammering his sword hilt into his ribs, followed by a devastating roundhouse punch, just like the one used on Alec. Verian raised his free hand, taking the strike on his arm and kicking out to drive his brother back.

He lunged, following through, both hands grasping his weapon to deliver a downwards slice at Kesian's throat, the metal flashing in the overhead lights. The two weapons met with a resounding crash, sparks leaping from the point where they joined. Verian strained to push back Kesian's blade but the older warrior held firm, unmoveable like stone. He gritted his teeth and put all his weight behind the sword, sweat running down his face. His eyes meet Kesian's, dark grey glaring into iron grey. His body shook with the effort but neither was giving way. The stubbornness of the Imperial Fists ran in both their veins and they would stand their struggling for eternity if neither gave in.

"Enough!" The training hall fell silent, hushed in an instant. Verian and Kesian broke apart immediately, snapping to attention as the massively armoured figure of Captain Efried strode in through the doorway, black cloak billowing out in contrast to the yellow plate he wore. The captain of the third company and the overall commander of the Imperial detachment came to a halt before them, the well-known Imperial Fist stern gaze full of thunder in imitation of their primarch, Rogal Dorn. "Scarus. Larcius. We're almost at our destination. Suit up and assemble on the bridge in ten minutes. That goes for you too, Scipio. Aurelius. As for the rest of you, attend to your weapons and armour. We could be heading into a war zone and we will not be caught unprepared."

"Hmm…" Verian relaxed as the Third captain departed, sheathing his training sword and passing it to one of the attendants who swarmed up now the Astartes were departing. Kesian passed by him, clapping him on the shoulder before moving off to rejoin his company. Alec and Lucian walked over. Lucian was the first to congratulate him. "Well…it seems we were wrong, brother. You weren't laid out on your arse like a whelp. Well done." Then he split, heading for the far door. Alec grinned, starting off towards door behind, each heading off to a different part of the ship. "Don't get overconfident now, Verian. Like Efried said, we could be heading into a war zone. Even if you almost fought Kesian to a standstill, you might still get your head blown off by some cannon down there. See you on the bridge."

The door hissed and closed, leaving Verian alone in the training hall. His hands were shaking from exertion. The front of his tunic was soaked with blood where Kesian's blade had sliced into his skin. His twin-hearts were racing and there was sweat on his brow from the effort of having warded off an opponent many times more skilful but he felt alive, almost as much as when in the heat of proper battle. The ship gave a shudder as it dropped out of the Warp. 'Time to get moving…' With one last backwards glance at the duelling arena, he strode from the room to prepare for whatever awaited them on Aretus Beta.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aretus Beta had been encountered by one of the Imperial expeditionary fleets as they were searching for further lost human civilisations flung far from Terra, bringing the light of the new Imperium and dispelling the falsities of gods and daemons that chained Man back to its turbulent past. The secular truth that such things did not exist was the sword that broke the chains that bound Man back from fully embracing their future among the stars. This truth was brought to all human civilisations they encountered…whether it was welcomed or not.

They had chanced upon the people of Aretus Beta approximately two months ago but all attempts at to make contact had been rebuffed. Sensing brewing conflict, they had sent out a call for assistance from the Astartes legions and the Imperial Fists, en route back to Terra to serve as the Emperor's praetorians, had been the first to respond. Loath to divert their whole fleet however, the Lord Rogal Dorn had instead dispatched a strike force on the battle barge, the Emperor's Fist, with five of his companies; under the leadership of Third captain Efried.

Whether by coincidence or just chance, the Imperial fleet over Aretus Beta had received communications a week before their arrival; hails and invitations to descend to the planet and meet the planetary leaders. Lord General Isiah didn't like taking chances like that. Captain Efried didn't. Even as the Imperial emissary prepared to descend to the planet under the flags of diplomacy, the Imperial Fists readied their weapons and armour, primed their war machines ready to bring the Emperor's wrath down on them if it came to that.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The armour joints hissed as he sealed the last part of his armour on, pulling on the heavy gauntlets and flexing his fingers. He took a few experimental movements to test that everything was in order before buckling on his sword belt and picking up his helmet. It was a deep yellow, just like the rest of his armour, red trim around the shoulder pad where the Fist of Dorn was displayed, a black gauntleted fist on a white disc, the same symbol; that of his legion was emblazoned on his breastplate, lightning bolts spreading out from it across his chest.

It was the symbol that would be burned into the minds of all those down on Aretus Beta if their intentions turned out to be treacherous, the Fist of Dorn that would close around their throats and crush the life from them. It would be a sad thing to bring destruction to fellow humans but if they came with ill intentions, the Emperor's forces would exterminate them. Verian had done so before but a heavy heart could be shrouded up duty and regret left until after the job was done.

Drawing out his sword, he examined it, the mirror-like sheen and the flawless craftsmanship of it. With this blade, he had ended the existences of countless orks, eldar and a number of other xenos filth but humans too had died on this blade. Those who resisted the Imperial truth outright or those who consorted with the alien were slain, lest their taint spread. Well…he could only hope that this would not be one of those times. Sighing, he slammed his sword back into its scabbard and marched off for the bridge.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You took your time, brother. The others are already there. Any longer and Efried would've been pissed." Alec waited for him at the vast doorway that led to the bridge. Verian drew level, he marching inside as two Astartes in full armour opened the doors, bolters held at the ready. They snapped to attention as Alec and Verian passed and the two captains strode out onto the bridge of the Emperor's Fist.

The bridge was a vast, cavernous chamber, some sixty crewmen swarming back and forth beneath the raised platform where the other Astartes stood, looking out over the planet below through the transparent viewing panel before them. He considered that despite the strength and power of the Astartes legion, without these normal, unenhanced men and women, they would be almost helpless, unable to be transported from war zone to war zone. But that was a thought for later. Efried glared slightly as Verian hastened over to them with Alec but said nothing.

His other brother-captains were here, now all also in their heavy power armour. The yellow plate now enhanced Lucian's already broad frame still further. He wore a heavy chainsword across his back and a bolt pistol was holstered at his side. Alec, the shortest of the group was squat and wide in his power armour, an unmoveable presence when stubbornness was needed more than fast response and agility. His right hand was encased in a heavy gauntlet, a power fist, which would multiply his strength a hundredfold when activated, giving him the power to tear through the hull of a tank with a sweep of his hand.

Only Kesian was unarmoured for now, clad in the same grey attire he had been in earlier. When battle came, he would bestride the battlefields in a suit of terminator armour, giving him the protection of a battle tank, wielding a thunder hammer that could shatter the heaviest protection any force could muster against them. Though the bulkier armour reduced the agility of the wearer, Verian had seen the Thirteenth captain match his power-armoured brethren blow for blow and emerge triumphant. Truly the soul of a warrior burned within the older Astartes' heart.

"The situation is this…" Efried began, gesturing behind him as a hologram of the planet burst to life and revolved slowly before them. "As of thirteen days ago, after months of rejecting Imperial contact, the leaders of Aretus Beta have finally hailed us, offering negotiation and diplomacy."

"I'm surprised the fleet didn't descend already and just shoot them all…" Efried fixed Alec for his flippant talk but once again didn't chastise him further. "The Lord General Isiah has already…done that on a number of worlds and there is talk that he has lost his nerve to repeat such a thing. At the same time, our astropaths report that there has been turbulence in the Warp, more than there should be, coinciding almost suspiciously with the hails from the planet."

"We can't be sure if they have found some way to influence it and if it is a sign of their ill-intentions towards us. Even so, we wish to proceed with caution, lest it is just mere coincidence. So instead we will be sending envoys to talk with them, settle this matter with words if we can…and you'll be accompanying them, Larcius. No questions. Prepare your men for the descent. The envoys have been transferred over to our ship already and will be on the transport down. Go now, in the name of the Dorn and the Emperor."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The inside of the shuttle was dark, all power being conserved in case it was needed for last minute boosts to get them safely to earth should things go wrong. Supposedly, this was only a diplomatic mission and so he only had two squads with him, no heavy weapons and no armoured vehicles. As precaution, he had squads Laevinus and Iovius with him, each consisting of ten highly dependable and battle-experienced Astartes. They would deal with whatever came their way if trouble started. Not that it should…

He glanced over where the envoys sat, three of them, one older man as their leader leading a younger man and woman. They were resembled the standard Imperial diplomat, all immaculate deep blue dress uniform and upright bearing. They carried no weapons and wore no armour. They had the physique of a normal human and Verian considered briefly how fragile they were. But then theirs was the way of words, not actions. Words were their weapons as the bolter and sword were his. The actions were left for him. He was just a soldier, after all…


	2. The Imperial Truth

2: The Imperial Truth

The transport shuttle rattled slightly as it entered the atmosphere. A few moments later and a city burst into sight below, a vast, sprawling settlement extending in all directions for miles, towering buildings in the centre and gradually getting shorter the further from the city's core they came. The buildings seemed to flash and shine as the sunlight caught off the dark obsidian stone they were carved from. At the very heart of the capital, a single squat palace resided, the black heart from which the life of the city spread; their destination. Verian hoped it wasn't some kind of sign…

"It's quite a wonderful sight, is it not?" He stopped leaning around to look out the view port over the city below. The older of the diplomats had moved from the far end of the shuttle's seating area, from the 'safe' distance from the Astartes and was now gazing out over the same view port, a frown of thought on his face. He appeared middle-aged, skin tanned and weathered, traces of white streaking his hair. "It appears to have been built along the template of many of old Terra's cities from before the Age of Strife. Truly a surprise to find such old traditions continuing to thrive among these human civilisations so far from Terra. It would tragedy to have to bring war to this world…"

Verian frowned, subconsciously adjusting the sword sheathed at his side, mailed fist curling around the worn grip. He looked back around at the diplomat, the envoy whose dedication to the Imperial Truth was meant to be the most fervent and passionate, to enlighten or turn worlds without a sword raised or a bolter fired. "Perhaps a tragedy…but it is our duty. If they resist the Truth we bring to them, if they oppose the inevitable progression of Man, then it is our duty to erase them from the face of universe lest they taint all we have worked to build."

"Ah…the soldier's duty, of course. Blind faith in the orders and duty placed before you. You cling to that, use it as your reason for everything. Why would one need to ever think for themselves if every motive can be laid out so simply, without thought for consequence or justice of one's actions. Tell me, soldier, have you ever stopped to consider your actions? Ever paused in your devotion to follow your orders to actual witness what you're doing and to feel the gravity of your actions?"

Verian gritted his teeth, fighting the frustration at such criticism… His brothers didn't bleed and die everyday on the battlefield blindly, thoughtlessly. They fought because they believed in a cause, they bled and died because they knew that that cause required sacrifice to achieve. He knew how the envoy thought of him. To the normal human, an Astartes warrior was a killing machine, utterly devoted, ruthless and cruel. Blood-soaked volumes spoke of countless years of war, of crushing civilisations under armoured boots, of putting populations to sword and flame for their resistance to compliance. True…some legions even took pleasure in such battle… The World Eaters…the Iron Warriors… But for the Imperial Fists, for him, it was different.

Daily, he thought of the men he'd killed in battle, fellow humans who should be his brothers, not his enemies. The faces of countless soldiers remained in his mind, cut down for the side they chose in battle. Regularly, he felt sorrow that they had to die beneath his blade but not regret…not remorse. To feel remorse was to feel that his actions had been wrong. It was to say that if he could turn back time and do differently he would…but no, he wouldn't. In the same time and situation, those men would die. He would kill them again and again because allowing them to live was to let Mankind's advance in unity slide, decline and leave it prey to those who would see the light of the human race extinguished from the galaxy.

"Everyday, I consider my actions, envoy. Everyday, each of my warriors think over what he has done, what he is going to do. We are prepared to do whatever it takes to achieve the complete unity of Man. The Emperor has shown us the future, a future we forge by the path we're on. We may not like the means but in the decades to come, when human citizens can walk the stars free from fear of the alien, when all man can call each other brother and are united under a single banner, then we may follow our own emotions. Until then, we cannot afford to be so selfish. To achieve such a great goal, our lives and clear conscience is a sacrifice we would make without regret."

The envoy had stood, watching Verian, listening intently. As Verian finished, the man nodded slowly, the curl of a smile on his lips. The original aggressive expression lifted. "Very good, captain." When he looked confused, the envoy continued. "I have worked with Astartes before now. It was with the Death Guard; one of their senior captains, Grulgor of the second company. Keen only to get down to the ground and kill everyone in sight for daring to oppose them. When I asked if he cared that they were fellow humans, he laughed. Lord Mortarion had ordered it so and, alien or foolish human, they all looked the same when blasted apart by bolter rounds. I felt the need to find out if I was in the presence of another monster. It would seem I am not…"

Verian gave the old man a hard stare and opened his mouth to reply but the intercom crackled to life at that moment. They were about to land. All around him, the Astartes of squads Laevinus and Iovius prepared their weapons, bolter slides racking with synchronised precision, heavy explosive rounds slamming into firing chambers. The envoy looked from them to Verian. He shrugged. "Let's hope this all goes smoothly then… I'll leave planning for the worst to you. And by the way, my name is Voltan, Sieur Mikas Voltan, should you need to report casualties back to your superiors later."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was a grand reception. The Imperial transport slid into the main courtyard of the palace as per instructions and as the landing ramp slid down, it was to a vast delegation of Aretans, both robed figures Verian took to be diplomats, and taller, broader ones, clad in sturdy-looking armour, polished black like the buildings around them, rifles slung and blades sheathed at their sides. A rush of warm wind swept into the compartment as the doors slammed open and Sieur Voltan led the way, his assistants at his sides and squad Iovius at his back. Pulling on his helmet, sealing it with a hiss, Verian adjusted his weapons before following the other out, slapping a hand on Sergeant Laevinus' shoulder guard in greeting as he passed. The sergeant nodded and waved for the second Imperial Fist squad to fall in. He was focussed on his mission for now and had reverted to the legion's normal stoic manner until it was over, the face that the rest of the galaxy saw.

Outside, the day sun blazed down on them, warm air brushing the surface of his armour. The stone surface beneath his feet was worn but intricate symbols were still visible beneath the dust. High walls towered over on either side, men standing at attention there. Weapon emplacements were plenty, he noted. The gate behind them led to the city, judging by what he'd seen on the way in. The palace stood before them, a vast structure, carved from the same obsidian as the other buildings.

Initial greetings and shock that they were face to face with humans from another world seemed to have passed for the moment and Sieur Voltan was moving forward to clasp hands with one of the Aretan delegation, a firm two-handed handshake. They moved apart and their leader raised his arms high, turning to his people, proclaiming it a miracle and ordering the negotiation hall be prepared at once so that they could talk with their lost brothers in the comfort of the palace behind.

There was a resounding crash as the black-armoured beat fists on their breastplates, causing the two junior envoys to flinch. Self-control kept the Imperial Fists from starting, drawing weapons and preparing to repulse an unintended 'attack'. The mention of a word like 'miracle' stirred something in Verian but he clamped down on it for now. Perhaps they were, for now, not as enlightened as the Imperials as to the falsity behind such beliefs and superstitions. That would all change soon enough…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The meeting had been going peacefully, positively. The emissaries from both sides had gathered in the negotiation halls, seated around a long table carved intricately from the same black marble as the vast number of towering structures in the centre of the capital. Imperial Fists stood at one end of the room, silent yellow-plated statues. Aretan palace guard, suited in cold black iron, rifles loose in hand, stood opposite them. Sieur Voltan and his apprentices had sat at one end and the speaker of the Aretans, their high praetor, as he was called, with some other robed delegates opposite them.

They had talked and despite his usual interest, Verian felt his interest wavering, tuning out as Voltan sought to impart the grand vision of the Emperor into simple words that could convey their true significance to these long-lost brothers. The Aretans had listened, interested, almost excited when they heard of how other humans from across the galaxy were being united together in a band of brotherhood.

Then the talk had turned to that of the secular truth carried forth by the Imperials. Despite lack of direct attention, Verian noticed a slight change in the posture of the Aretans, the very faint and swiftly hidden flickers and half-glances between them that made his hand curl around his sword hilt unconsciously. Something felt wrong… Disconcerted, he turned his attention to what was happening between the two diplomats. A tension had started to rise between them, both senior speakers risen to their feet, smiles and warm gestures dispelled.

The praetor's face had paled slightly, a snarl playing across his lips. "A unity with man, we can understand…but to cast aside our gods, who have watched over us since our births here. It is intolerable and will not come to pass. By their might, our people have become stronger, lived longer when they would otherwise have died. And you come here proclaiming it all to be false?"

"For countless generations, man believed in gods and their gifts only to realise they were deceived and that mistook the then-unexplained for divine power. As science progressed, we cast aside these shackles that forbade us from advancing lest we commit hubris and blasphemy. These so called gods turned man upon each other as even now they are doing here." Sieur Voltan slammed a fist down on the table. "The Emperor showed us the way out of those dark times and cast the light of knowledge before us so we could all see for ourselves the truth in the galaxy. Your gods are false!"

"Truly you have been indoctrinated well by your Emperor. His vision may be grand but it is blinkered and clouded. Are you so certain, when you follow so blindly, that you have been shown the light? Or has your Emperor deceived you all, leading you to your own destruction without you even noticing? For that must be his intention if he is to declare false the gods whom care for us and grant us such gifts. As great as we desire to be reunited with our brother man, to be allied with such a godless people, led by one evil enough to preach the destruction of the high ones…we would have nothing to do with you. You will leave our planet immediately. Go back to your Emperor and tell him that not all are fooled by him and that there are those who remain that refuse to be led astray from the path of good."

Voltan was now almost quaking with rage, a rage shared by Verian and it had taken all his self-control not to strike down this foolish man for his words and his insult to their lord and master. The Imperial diplomat spoke, his words burning with suppressed fury. "This is madness, high praetor. See even now how such fervent belief in the divine seeks to divide what could be a part of a great alliance. Man must stand together or other forces in the galaxy that would rather see us dead will destroy us. We will not tolerate division. If you continue to cling to your foolish beliefs and refuse to see reason, we will be forced to act. It pains me to do so but I will order your destruction if it must be done to advance the cause of the human race."

"Then I'm afraid there's nothing more to say. I will not waste any more words on heretics and blasphemers. The gods will have their vengeance if you will not leave our planet peacefully…" The words registered in Verian's mind even as his body moved. From beneath his heavy robes, the high praetor of Aretus Beta drew forth some kind of firearm, barrel extended towards Sieur Voltan. Verian crossed the space between him and the negotiating table in two bounds, forcing his armoured body between the diplomats and the high praetor, seizing the heavy table and wrenching it up with a heave. There was a flash and resounding boom followed rapidly by a bone-shattering impact as the energy bolt struck the table, black marble shattering in a shower around him.

Even as his temporary shield shattered before his eyes, Verian was lunging, bounding towards the high praetor, right fist rocketing down and crashing into the traitor's skull with enough force to shatter a man's skull. Adamantine-armoured gauntlet smashed through flesh and bone, half the man's face disappearing under the blow. The body reeled back...and then stood. Verian's eyes widened as the remaining portion of the high praetor's face smiled. "You'll have to do better than that, Captain." So he drew his bolter and blasted the rest of the man's body apart in a hail of explosive shells.

"Defence pattern Alpha! Protect the envoys!" Verian's struggle had taken a matter of seconds. The black armoured Aretans were just bringing up their heavy assault rifles when squad Laevinus spread out in a fan, two Astartes shielding the envoys with their massive, armoured forms, as the rest raised their bolters and unleashed a storm of explosive death that blasted them backwards against the walls. Keeping his bolter out, Verian drew his power sword, hitting the activation rune causing the blade to ignite with energy. The meeting hall had been all but demolished by Laevinus' actions, the Aretan bodyguard lying scattered and the intricate black wall carvings now riddled with holes. Taking measured strides, he walked over to one of the bodies, using the tip of the sword to part the black armour where a bolter shell had erupted. The flesh beneath the armour was pale green...rotting. He'd only ever seen that kind of decay in long dead corpses. Something was very wrong here...

"Alright. Move out, Laevinus. Get back to the landing pad and the shuttle!" A heavy boot smashed the doors apart and two Astartes rolled out, bolters raised and immediately opening fire on unseen assailants beyond. One fell back, the yellow battle plate scarred and his brother caught him, dragging him into cover, firing his bolter one handed. Before the black armoured troops could take advantage of their success, Sergeant Laevinus charged out, chainsword snarling in both hands. Verian sprinted out, the rest of squad Laevinus in tow, protecting the envoys. Laevinus stood in the corridor outside, three dead Aretans at his feet. "Coast clear, Captain. Let's move out."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It might have been an idea to try and pursue the high regent now, eliminate the leader of this treacherous planet now while they were inside but several kilometres of armour and heavy weapon-armed men stood between the negotiation halls and the royal chambers…and they had to get the envoys back to the ship first. Despite the urge to pile his menial forces through that gauntlet and rip that fool's head from his body with his bare hands, Verian understood the chain of command and he had his orders. First, he had to get his charges to safety, then, Aretus Beta would feel the wrath of the Imperial Fists.

"Captain! We're taking heavy fire. Two men down!" Verian's comlink crackled to life and the voice of Sergeant Iovius echoed around off the walls as the envoy party sprinted back down along the corridors to the landing pad. Aretans tried to stop them but the Imperial Fists were not to be impeded, shooting them out the way or charging, heavy armoured shoulder thrusts crushing bone as they connected. The front doors of the palace were blasted from their hinges and they sprinted out into the open, weapons readied though the attention of the enemy wasn't on them.

A furious battle raged on the landing pad, the members of squad Iovius taking cover behind the transport and a scattering of discarded crates, defending all sides against the palace guard as they rained fire down on the Imperials' heads. The guards at the door just realised the enemy were behind them too when Verian descended the steps, power sword taking off one's head and then driving into the chest of another. He glared up at the walls where the palace guard fired from as the envoy party ducked into cover by the doors. His eyes narrowed as the silhouettes of men bearing heavy weapons stood out against the flaming sun.

"Iovius! Get your men away from the ship! Move now!" The yellow-armoured figures responded immediately to the urgency in their captain's voice, breaking off and sprinting across the open courtyard away from the transport. Gunfire caught one in the shoulder and he went down, dragged to his feet immediately by a brother, the other two injured ones carried between two other squad members. Squad Laevinus opened fire, covering them they managed to reach the protection at the front doors. Even as the last Astartes retreated, a cluster of missiles spat from the walls, engulfing the lightly armoured ship in flames.

"So…I guess we need another way out then, Captain." Laevinus frowned and flipped open the data slate from a pouch at his belt, scrolling to a map of the city and handing it to Verian. "If we can't escape, we have to try and get a message back to the ship. I've already tried contacting them from here but our comlinks are either jammed or not strong enough to reach them." The sergeant drew a finger from one point to another, tracing a route on the map. "Based off orbital scans, there's a communications tower here. If we can make it there, we should be able to patch a signal through to the ship and call for extraction."

Verian reviewed the map. The tower was approximately five miles north, right out the front gates and down the main highway. It would be a risk…but if they waited any longer, the Aretans would have time to mobilise heavier forces against them. It was time to break out now… He turned to the party. "Alright… We're making for the communications tower. Sieur Voltan? You and the other two stay close to my troops and they'll do their best to protect you. Iovius? Use your power fist to punch a hole in that front gate and escort the envoys here over there, giving them cover. Laevinus? Give us covering fire as we move across the courtyard. Follow us through when we're clear. Alright…let's move."

The Imperials rose as one, a concentrated hail of fire from two squads ripping apart the squad of palace guard that had been attempting to advance in the wake of their destroyed flight out of this place. Verian smacked a fresh clip into his bolt pistol, racking the slide and charging out of cover, armoured footsteps leaving gouges in the stonework as he ran. His hand raised and targeting enemies on instinct, the pistol snarling in his fist as it punched armoured soldier after soldier off their feet. He felt the tracer of a heavy weapon sweeping around to target him but the user's head exploded as the cover fire from squad Laevinus laid waste to the gun emplacement above.

They reached the gate, lasers flashing around them, blackening the stone and iron all around them. A shot detonated a fraction away from the female envoy who gave a shriek even as one of the Astartes interposed himself between her and the fire, the round merely denting the battered yellow plate. Even as the other slowed, Sergeant Iovius pressed on, raising his right fist and plunging into the solid wrought metal gate. His power fist, an augmented gauntlet that multiplied his formidable strength to even greater heights, flared with energy. There was an explosion and a gaping hole appeared where his fist had connected. A few more punches widened it enough for him to shove a melta charge into it. "Clear!" There was a blinding glare as the charge detonated, vaporising a large portion of the gate, large enough for an Astartes warrior to climb through.

Without needing orders, two battle-brothers leapt through the gap, bolters raised and firing as a pair of ground cars slewed to a halt, heavy weapons racking. Verian followed through, followed by the envoys and then the rest of squad Iovius. Out of the main gates, the Imperial Fists found themselves on the main high street, surprised and terrified civilians fleeing at the sight of these armoured giants who had devastated their soldiers in a matter of seconds. The main route to the tower stretched on for miles ahead of them, a single blade punching up towards the heavens on the horizon. Squad Laevinus made it through after them, smoke rolling off their armour but otherwise unharmed. "Alright. Let's get moving." Holstering his bolt pistol, Verian led the way as the party sprinted for their way off this planet.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Their quickened pace had so far managed to keep them out of the range of the enemy for now, though the threat was ever present, the occasional long range shot zipping through the air to remind them there would be no rest until they reached their destination. As they ran, Verian glanced around at the envoys. They were flagging, tiring as they attempted to keep up with the enhanced physiques of the Astartes. Sieur Voltan gave him a weak smile that turned into a grimace as he stumbled. One of Laevinus' men caught him before he fell, holding him under one arm like a child.

The other two had already collapsed, now being carried by the Astartes as they now lengthened their pace, not having to check their pace to compensate for the normal humans. Civilians fled inside their houses at the sight of them approaching and word seemed to spread until the streets were deserted around them, only the steady beat of their footfalls to be heard. The tower grew closer, its shadow falling over them as the setting sun burned a trail to earth. It was a peace to last only a few moments.

"Contact to the rear!" Verian looked back over his shoulder as a heavy ground car roared into view, bursting over the crest of a hill, followed by two more. They were filled with black armoured troops, some clinging to the side to stay on, rifles levelled and heavy weapons swinging from fixed positions on the roof rack. They opened fire, showering the Imperials with heavy calibre sounds. The Astartes carrying the female envoy dropped to his knees as his armoured torso shielded her from the fire, yellow battle plate cracking in hundreds of places as he took the brunt of fire.

Even as he fell, he was swinging his bolter around, emptying his clip into the tires of the lead vehicle. Squad Iovius fell back, coming to a halt and opening fire on the approaching vehicles, blasting the hangers-on from their perches in a shower of blood. The lead ground car was now bearing down on the bowed warrior, racing forward to crush him and his charge under its massive wheels. It would have…if not for the charge of combined counter charge of Iovius and Laevinus. The two sergeants charged, using their own armoured weight and testing it against the massive ground car.

Iovius' power fist buried itself into the front, lightning exploding all around them as the vehicle slammed to a sudden halt, the rear leaping up and the bonnet compressing in on itself from the force. Even as it came up, Laevinus was lunging forward, chainsword clenched in two hands as he brought it around in a snarling arc, carving through four men at once and his weight crushing the fifth as he slammed into the ground car. One attempted to draw a pistol but he hammered his elbow back, demolishing the man's face with the blow. Two lateral swings and the rest of the occupants were dead.

The other two heavy ground cars snarled to a halt, short of the devastated first, troops dismounting and firing at will. The air flashed with a bloody rain, streaks of red energy flaring. A mounted missile launcher swivelled around to target him and he threw himself sideways in an attempt to evade. The world exploded around him, paving cracking under his weight as Verian was hurled aside. His vision swam. His ears rang, only the dull booms of bolter fire and the shouts of the sergeants registered as he attempted to rise. Seeing the downed captain, the Aretans swarmed down on him, probably to finish him while he lay stunned. Blackness closed all around him, blades gleaming in the light of the dying sun.

Even half conscious, Verian's combat instinct overtook him. As the first blade stabbed down, he caught the owner's wrist, evading the questing sword as it crunched into the stone beneath. The man's face came close to his, helmet gone, a snarling face revealed. The man was human but yet…he looked like he'd been dead for a long time. The flesh was rotten and decayed but yet a roar of fury still animated his features.

The Aretan attacked again but Verian was ready, driving a fist into the soldier's solar plexus that shattered the black armour and the ribcage beneath. The dead man flew back with a crash. He lashed out with his fists, beating two attackers away and grasping around for his sword. His fingers closed on the handle and with a sweep, he dropped another two, legs severed at the ankles. Struggling to his feet, he finished them with careless stamps of his boots and raised his sword ready but there was no need. The remains of some thirty Aretans lay scattered about, blown apart by bolter shells or bleeding from where the Imperials had to resort to blades.

A quick count asserted minimal losses and all three envoys intact. 'So far so good…' he mused. He sheathed his sword and turned to the others as they regrouped. "Let's keep going. We're almost there. We'd better hurry before they can mount another attack." The Imperial Fist captain shook his head to steady himself and started off, leading the group in an attempt regain their original pace, another twenty minutes finally leading them into the cold shadow of the communications tower. There was no one in sight, not a sound to be heard but for the heavy breathing of the Astartes from the fighting and the occasional cocking of a bolter. They reached the door, demolishing it with a few swift punches from Iovius' power fist. They advanced inside, into the impenetrable darkness within.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At first there was nothing. Then Verian caught the hint of movement in the shadows and raised his bolter. A man, haggard looking, pale and drawn, was limping slowly towards him, dressed in the manner of a worker. He kept his weapon levelled. "Stand aside and you won't be harmed." The man kept coming. From the shadows, more people emerged; the same dead look in their eyes as the first. Bolters racked all around Verian. The first man drew near and opened his mouth to speak…and lunged forward, teeth like fangs bared. He was an inch from Verian, hands clawing for his face as the Imperial Fist captain pulled the trigger and blew the man's head apart in a shower of shattered bone and grey matter. As if this was a signal, the hoard of civilians surged forward, seemingly not realising they faced warriors who were larger than them, better armed and armoured.

The Imperial Fists opened fire, bolter rounds tearing into the packed mass of bodies with deafening booms in the confined space. Verian's eyes widened in horror as he saw the lead people take explosive rounds in bare chests, blasting bloody craters in them that made them fall back a pace but still come, ignorant of the fatal wounds that should have laid them low. Verian's bolter clicked dry and he slung it at his side, drawing his combat knife, the cramped environment too enclosed to swing a sword. Another man came at him, a vast hole in his chest showing a rotten heart pulsating within. Cutting aside the flailing limbs, Verian slammed a fist into the creature's, for this could not be a man any longer, chest and tore the foul organ from within. He crushed it in his fist even as it collapsed but as he looked around, the battle was not playing out as one-sided as it should.

Imperial Fists were being swamped by ten times their number of ragged, almost possessed civilians, tearing at their armour plating with clawed hands or teeth. The Astartes fought back, armoured fists beating bloody holes into their opponents, shattering bones and ripping apart their enemy with knives but even so, they kept coming, heedless of injuries that should have killed them a hundred times over. A brother Astartes was dragged down by weight of numbers and in an instant disappeared under a tangle of bodies, his roars of pain heard over the fighting. Verian fought to reach him but it was too late for the warrior. Even then, he made his death worth something, a grenade going off and blasting a dozen or two adversaries to pieces along with himself.

"This is insane. We must get to the rooftop, Verian!" Laevinus forced his way through to his captain's side, chainsword dripping with blood. He nodded. "Okay… Gather the men and force a path to the stairs. When we get there, force a way to the top, crush anyone in our path and don't stop for anything. Let's go."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The path upwards was just as brutal, the fighting as vicious. The Imperials forced their way up, their way impeded by the weight of dead bodies and bodies that should be dead, clinging to their ankles and dragging them back. Verian stamped left and right, snapping bones with loud brittle cracks as he forged on. The stairs spiralled up and up, heading towards the summit. His breath was coming fast now, such was the effort of making his way this way. What, in Terra's name, was happening on this planet? Was this the gifts the high praetor had spoken of? It was a terrible gift indeed then… To have life prolonged only for an existence of blank madness and a decaying body.

The Imperials reached the roof, breaking out into sunlight, the glare causing Verian to winch beneath his helmet after fighting for so long in the gloom. Immediately, Iovius was ordering the communications specialists to patch into the enhanced broadcasting equipment of the tower while squad Laevinus secured the hatch up to their position. Far below, some 400 feet off down, Verian could see swarms of black armoured Aretans running towards the tower. These were more heavily armed and armoured than the palace guard they had faced before and as if to emphasis the ill-fortunate state they were in, Laevinus' bolters opened up, firing back down the way they had come, the wet sounds of rotten flesh being blasted apart reaching his ears.

"Got it, Captain!" Verian nodded to the Imperial Fist and activated his comlink. "Emperor's Fist! This is Captain Larcius! We need evac immediately. Emergency situation. Lock on to our homing beacon. Out!" Verian snapped off the comlink and narrowed his eyes towards the horizon. That had to be the fastest response ever… He hadn't even broken off the call before it was dispatched. Probably Kesian or someone had already noticed something was wrong down on the surface and sent help as soon as they had a position to move too.

A few more moments and the troop ship swerved alongside the tower, side hatch hissing open. "Laevinus! Get the diplomats inside now! Iovius! Cover them and then get in yourself. Move it." The two sergeants nodded and raced to comply, speeding across the flat rooftop and leaping in to the Thunderhawk, as the ship opened up with cannons on the men down below, heavy bolters and lascannons raking the Aretan battle lines and blasting big holes in their ranks. The diplomats were on board and the last of squad Iovius was running to the ship. Time he was gone too… His comlink hissed as it alerted him to an incoming transmission. He activated it but there was nothing but silence at the other end. He flipped it off. Maybe a fault in equipment.

He sprinted for the Thunderhawk, armoured boots ringing off the metal plating beneath his feet. He was bare feet away when the floor collapsed beneath him and he was falling, skidding on his side as the ground buckled and he was thrown aside. He rolled over just as the largest man he had yet seen bore down on him, crawling out of the hole it had made. Where the ones before had at least still looked half-alive, the creature before him could not pass for one of the living…had it not still been moving and trying to kill Verian. Fleshless hands gripped his wrist as he tried to bring his bolter to bear. The weapon discharged several times into the air before it was knocked spinning away. The other Astartes were trying to take aim but held their fire for fear of hitting their commander. Instead, they diverted their fire, cutting down the lesser enemies that surged from down below.

Verian managed to grab his combat knife, stabbing it several times into the creature's chest as its almost skull-like face leered at him, bare inches away, its breath a foul stench just about filtered by his helmet. Roaring, the creature ignored the wound, even as its guts oozed all over his battered yellow plate. Its hands closed around his throat and despite his enhanced strength, he was unable to wrench them aside. He could have crushed a normal man's skull with one hand but this adversary's power was impossibly great and his vision began to spin as his air supply was cut off. He slammed a fist repeatedly into the creature's face, shattering gore and bones all over him but in response, it raised him up and smashed his head on the ground again and again.

The metal buckled under the impact and his helmet came apart, a blast of hot breath flushing across his face. His dark hair was plastered against his forehead, a trickle of blood running down the side of his face. Verian fought to break free but he couldn't move, pinned down as the creature drew back a hand, razor sharp blades sliding from beneath the flesh. 'Frak…this is it…' he thought.

He could hear shouting, running feet; feet too light to be an Astartes in battle plate. As they got closer, the grip around his throat choking him slackened and the creature recoiled. Verian rolled on to his side, gasping for breath as the shadow of the newcomer fell across him, silhouetted by the dying sun on the horizon. The creature lunged at the figure but it evaded, weaving gracefully to one side while slashing deep into its side with a long sword. The creature, borne on by its own momentum, stumbled. As it tried to regain its balance, the newcomer drew a bolt pistol, firing once, twice, rounds spinning it around and with a screech, it plummeted to its death.

The figure holstered its pistol and sheathed its sword, walking back over to where Verian was pulling himself upright. He blinked once and twice before his vision cleared fully and he saw his saviour. The warrior was only about five foot in height but clad from head to foot in a red bodyglove, covered by burnished golden armour, weapons holstered at her side. Long brown hair, tied in a long ponytail fluttered out behind her and darker brown eyes regarded him patiently as he rose to his feet. A Sister of Silence… He hadn't encountered one before but he knew her to be one, the chilling aura that surrounded the members of the Silent Sisterhood becoming evident even from her.

She gestured with a hand, a beckoning gesture and started off towards the Thunderhawk, Verian forcing his body to move after her. The hatches slammed shut after them and with a roar, the ship raced off into the heavens, leaving Aretus Beta behind.


	3. Into the Heart of Darkness

Lucian and Alec were there to greet Verian as he emerged from the transport. They smiled at the sight of him returning under his own strength, walking unaided. Brother-Apothecary Karl had patched him up as best as he could be at the time. Still, he had caught the weary looks exchanged between them before they had fully seen him properly.

On the way back up to the ship, Verian had caught sight of a Black Ship, one of the mighty cruisers manned by the Sisters, hovering in orbit close by the Emperor's Fist. Though they were some of the most useful and loyal warriors in the Imperium, the Sisters of Silence never failed to unnerve those in close proximity to them, the Imperial Fist Astartes being no exception. They were supposed to project an aura around them that nullified psychic powers but it seemed even those without those special abilities were put off-balance when around them.

The hairs on the back of Verian's neck pricked up and he turned to see the Sister who had saved him back at the communications tower was emerging. As she drew nearer, he noted that she stood head and shoulders shorter than him yet a sense of unease filled him as she regarded him coolly before turning and walking away towards the bridge.

Sieur Voltan and his attendants were being carried to the infirmary by servitors and the members of the two Imperial Fist Tactical squads disembarked, removing helmets and looking mostly relieved to be back on the familiar ground of their ship. The events down on Aretus Beta had disturbed some of them; the nature of their enemy and the idea of once again purging some lost sector of human inhabitancy.

"That was quite something, Verian," Lucian began, watching as the procession of troops moved off. "We were starting to get worried. Something seems to have been happening on the surface on the planet. If you'd seen it from where we were, you'd have been worried too. After we lost communications, we thought it was going to be all over. Kesian was all ready gearing up to lead the Terminator squads down to spearhead an assault on the planet."

"And then those psycho women showed up." Alec glanced up the way the Sister had gone, confirming she was gone before continuing. Verian frowned at Alec's disparaging description of the Sisters but remained silent. "A Black Ship, out of nowhere… We were hailed and well…one does not refuse hails from them. A few moments later, a squad of those Sisters turned up and one of them decided to take one of our ships to the planet surface to where your homing beacon had just become active. It looks like she succeeded, whatever she went down there for."

Verian pondered this. If the Sisters of Silence were here, it meant psyker activity. It meant that the Imperial Fists were to encounter things which might require more than a chainsword, bolter and courage in the heart. Recalling the battles that had raged down on the surface of Aretus Beta, thinking back to how resilient the enemy had been when they should have crumbled before their assault, he figured now some sort of psychic activity must have been active, strengthening them beyond human limits.

When he had been having the life choked out of him by that creature back on the top of the communications tower, it had drawn back, repelled by the other woman. What had she been doing down there? To save him? Unlikely… Maybe…

Verian's comlink flashed, as did Alec's and Lucian's. They were wanted on the bridge; emergency meeting. He exchanged nods with them and headed there with all haste. Something big was about to happen and the three captains' presence was needed. Verian felt like he was in great need of rest but it seemed that would have to wait, for what seemed like a very long weight. Such was the life of an Astartes…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You took your time again, Verian." He saluted and marched up to Captain Efried on the bridge. The other captains gathered around the main holodisplay, Lucian and Alec on either side of him, Kesian opposite, gazing into the projection of the planet. At a distance, standing in the shadows, Verian caught a glimpse of a small group of golden armoured warriors; Sisters of Silence, more of them… Among their number, he caught the eyes of the same warrior on him and he looked away, looked left out the main viewport looking down on the planet and blinked.

The sight was…interesting. Where before the planet had appeared to be nothing remarkable at first, now he could see vast flames had spread across the surface, three great circles blazing through the sea of green forestation, meeting where the city centre lay. He hadn't noticed it as he was evacuating but now he saw it, he understood the worry that had marked the faces of his battle-brothers.

Captain Efried cleared his throat and silence fell throughout the bridge, but for the low humming of the ship's machinery working. He paced before them, before pointing at a point on the map, zooming in to show the city. "The inhabitants of Aretus Beta have finally shown their hand, thanks to the efforts of Captain Larcius and Sieur Voltan. Their intentions have been shown to be both hostile and dangerous. Furthermore, the observations from orbit and information from the astropaths have revealed the Aretans to be building up a vast quantity of psychic energy. Their purpose and objectives are unknown but we should have the advantage in this conflict."

The commander looked over at the group of women briefly before looking away, just as unnerved as the rest of them though suppressing his discomfort by a grimace. "We will be aided by a force of Sisters, led by Lady Laurana. The main target is the focal point of the psychic buildup; the palace. Kesian and the Tenth will lead the assault on this objective point, supported by Lady Laurana and Captain Larcius' company. Captains Aurelius and Scipio are to take their companies and secure the palace from external assaults. There have been vast movements of the population since Captain Larcius returned and we have reason to believe they may have turned hostile. They need to be repelled so the main objective can be accomplished. That is all. My company will be held back in reserve should you require reinforcements."

The holodisplay deactivated, leaving them all in darkness as the company captains dispersed to tend to their troops. As they were leaving, Verian felt as if there were eyes upon him. He had a suspicion at the back of his mind as to where the stare was coming from but he tried to ignore it, kept walking. It was only when he was out in the corridor that Alec leaned over. "You might want to look out, Verian. You seem to have attracted the attention of someone and she looks like the kind whose attention you don't want."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Verian stood on one of the observation decks, gazing down on Aretus Beta, soon to feel the wrath of the Imperium. His body was still weary from the previous battles but he found he couldn't rest. It tended to be like this at every war zone; he'd only be able to rest properly when the campaign was over and they were in transit to the next theatre of war. He'd normally roam his living cell, pacing back and forth in the confined space or be in the training halls, practicing motions he'd done a thousand times already. This time instead, he stood here, still, his massive form encased in his beaten yellow battle armour.

The overhead chronometer told him that in six hours, he had to return to main preparation zone to attend to his company. This time, they were going in hard; a full infantry strike to force their way inside the palace and destroy the leader of Aretus Beta, along with all his guard. Hopefully that would break the hold over the people…or make things worse. They'd have to find out…

And the Sisters of Silence were here. Despite the added strength that lent to the Imperial forces, their presence usually spoke of a much deep danger than the ones the Astartes were used to. The Sisters were psychic-blanks, witchseekers, projecting an aura around them that nullified all psychic powers. This repelling nature extended to their very demeanour so that they didn't even speak, sworn to silence in their duties. Their presence made psykers recoil in fear and agony. It made even non-psychic users like Verian uncomfortable to be around.

The hairs stood up on the back of his neck as that same feeling overcame him and though he heard not a sound, he knew that one of the Silent sisterhood stood right behind him. He revolved slowly on the spot to find the familiar figure of the Sister he had seen on the rooftop of the communication tower. Her helmet was held under one arm, revealing beautiful features beneath. Her golden armour shone in the low-level lights, a long power sword sheathed at her side, bolt pistol on her other hip. Behind her stood a smaller figure, a younger girl in black robes with a cowl drawn over her head.

He inclined his head in a show of respect as he watched her. Returning this action, the Sister made a few signs with her hands. Verian looked, confused for a moment as to what she meant. As if in answer to this, the girl behind spoke up suddenly. "Lady Jaina Hakuria wishes to greet you in the name of the Emperor. You fought well in his name and do honour to your Legion."

The captain was slightly taken aback but inclined his head again in acknowledgement. So…the other girl spoke for the Sister, articulating the words that the silent one was forbidden to by oath. He addressed the Sister directly, looking her in the eye as he spoke. "Thank you, my lady. But why did you come personally to the surface? It was unnecessary for you to accompany the Thunderhawk down when the others of my Legion."

More hands signs. The Sister cocked her head to one side as she regarded him, unblinking, eyes scanning him up and down as if taking measure of him. The novice behind her spoke again, voice quiet and secretive. "The Imperial Tarot was cast on Luna. Great danger to the Imperium lurks beneath the surface of Aretus Beta, danger that requires you to defeat…"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back in the dropship again… Twelve hours had passed since he had returned to the Emperor's Fist but now it was back into the field. Verian sighed and redonned his helmet, sealing it up, hands running through the weapon checks with the effortlessness of countless previous repetitions. The words of the Sister still worried by but he tried to force those thoughts down. He had a mission ahead of him and he needed to be focussed.

Squads Iovius and Laevinus were onboard with him, the members who were too injured to fight having remained behind on the ship. Both Sergeants were eager to get back down and start avenging their fallen comrades with fire and flame. They moved down the line, checking on each of their men before the action.

The eight other squads of the Twentieth company were also onboard; Tactical squads, Assault squads, equipped with jump packs and armed with chainswords and bolt pistols, Devastator squads, hefting heavy lascannons and heavy bolters. This time, they were better prepared for the enemy they faced. The Aretans would rue the day they thought to challenge the might of the Imperial Fist Legion and the Sons of Dorn.

The descent to the planet's surface was much faster than before, the Thunderhawks racing for the earth. As they drew nearer, the sounds outside increased, a roar erupting from the wings as heavy bolters opened up and showered the landing area with heavy rounds, shattering the armour of the Aretans like dry egg shells. They were near to the landing zone where the envoy ship had first landed. The wreckage had been cleared away and it lay open for them to land in now.

Out of the viewports, Verian could see two other Thunderhawks sweeping low to deliver Alec and Lucian's companies to hold off the population. From this distance, he could see a tide of bodies, a horde of civilians surging forward with no more than crude hunting equipment, sharp tools and brands of fire. A ragged cry rose from their masses and the Imperials responded with bolter fire and flame.

Verian looked away. This was not what should happen; Imperials having to turn their weapons on their fellow man. But even he could remember the blaze of fanaticism in the eyes of these traitors and knew that if they didn't fight, they would be killed. Something was very wrong on this planet and they were sorting it out in the only way left available to them.

They were fifty metres off the ground when a fork of lightning stabbed down from the heavens and smashed into the Thunderhawk. Alarms went off all around Verian. The ship was suddenly jinking wildly, shaking violently so much that it felt like the ship was coming apart. The nose of the ship dropped and the ground rose rapidly up to meet them. Verian watched in slow motion as their Thunderhawk nose-dived for the earth. "Frak…"

The next moments happened as blurs. It felt like Thunderhawk was caught in a tornado, Astartes reaching for hand holds to grip hold on to lest they be sent flying by the wild piloting of the crew. Proximity alarms joined the chorus of screeching and with a resounding crash, the ship struck the earth. The hull around them was shredded, ripped apart as if by some great giant of old, extinct mythology. It peeled back, revealing its precious cargo as flashes of lasers opened up from above. Verian took a headcount of the survivors. Most sounded off without difficulty, kept safe in their power armour. Casualties had been thankfully low considering the state of the ship.

Imperial Fists piled out rapidly, bolters blazing as the squads fanned out, sending the black armoured palace guard flying back from their posts as heavy rounds found their mark. While before the honour guard had been on the defence with few numbers and weapons, now, the Astartes laid down withering, overlapping fields of fire that pulverised their enemies. Aretan soldiers were on the high walls around them and a swarm on the courtyard below, charging forward to try and overwhelm the Imperials swiftly by weight of numbers. Verian leapt out, power sword flashing as he hacked aside the few Aretans who charged at him with clawed hands or bayonets lowered.

More guards poured out of the palace but with a scream, the second Thunderhawk landed, disgorging its contents; Captain Kesian Scarus, bedecked in the great Terminator plate armour, and his Terminator squads. He was bare-headed, face unprotected as shots flew all around him, scorching the massive pauldrons emblazoned with the symbol of their legion; the black fist of Dorn. He seemed unperturbed by this, eyes coolly surveying the battlefield before him, weighing his thunder hammer in one hand. With a signal, he sent troops forward, an impenetrable wall of ceramite and Astartes flesh.

Heavy weapon fire turned on them but the shots rebounded and rang off their battle armour as they raised their own weapons and returned fire, scything down the enemy like wheat. Kesian's thunder hammer lashed out, crackling energies engulfing the head as he struck left and right, shattering bones and hurling corpses flying across the courtyard as he made his way over to Verian.

"There's no time to waste, Verian. Let's get moving." He paused. There was a flash of gold as the lithe figures of the Sisters slid between the towering figures of the Astartes warriors, wielding bolters and power swords, slicing their way through the Aretans with skill and grace that seemed to remind Verian of Elder. One of them spun in a graceful spin, blade beheading two Aretan soldiers with a flourish. As she completed her rotation, she looked back at Verian and through the golden helmet, he had he uncomfortable impression he recognised the eyes behind them.

"Move it, Verian." Kesian charged forward, heavy Terminator battle absorbing a heavy hail of fire as he lashed out with his thunder hammer, demolishing the recently repaired palace gates with one great blow. With a roar, the Imperial Fists charged, racing inside the palace to start purging the traitors. In contrast, in utter quiet, the Sisters of Silence followed in their wake, bolters and swords held at the ready.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Every step of the way was a severe punishment, hundreds of black-armoured palace guard surging forward in a tide to try and halt the Imperial advance in the main foyer. Balconies rose high above them on either side. The towering doors, forged from the same black marble as the rest of the structure, carved with intricate runes and symbols, stood before them, leading to the leader of the Aretans, standing in obstacle to them, guarded by a horde of black armoured palace guard, rank upon rank of them standing there, bearing heavy assault rifles with bayonets, swords and heavy-bladed halberds.

In the vast chamber, the Imperial Fists formed a battle line, Verian standing with Kesian at the centre, weapons at the ready. A line of power-armoured battle brothers dropped to one knee, taking aim with bolters in front of them, unleashing a hail of devastating firepower as the Aretans came at them. The terminators braced themselves, immovable rocks against the tide of enemy before them. Power fists crackled to life and the second line of bolter fire ripped into the palace guard as they came on.

Verian met the charge, armoured fist smashing one soldier aside before catching the flashing blade of another on his drawn power sword. These guards were stronger, more skilful. Their seniority seemed to be marked by the same…mark they had seen burning on the planet from orbit; the three circles branded on their helmets. These soldiers seemed to move a lot slower, dragging their feet as they advanced…but how much more resilient were they? He stabbed his enemy in the chest but he didn't go down. Reversing the stroke, Verian struck off his head, and only then did the body drop, slain.

He watched as a volley of bolter rounds crash into the front rank, explosive shells blasting chunks of armour and flesh apart…and they still came, seemingly unhindered. Shots that should have blown them off their feet failed to even wrong-foot them. He could see the beating heart in the exposed chest of the lead warrior, a blackened organ, rotting almost but still beating and keeping the…creature alive. His helmet had been removed and a cruel grin creased the Aretan's face, a face the like of which filled Verian with dread.

Truly he had been right when comparing the bodies of the Aretan soldiers to long-dead corpses. The soldier's face was pale, sallow and waxy. The teeth were rotten and the eyes a jaundiced yellow. Signs of disease covered his flesh, festering wounds and strains of disease that should have killed him several times over, just like the weapons of the Imperial Fists…and yet he lived. An Astartes charged at him, powerfist sweeping down to crush him but the Aretan commander swayed aside, sudden alacrity initially hidden by his slow gait.

He drew a sword at his side, a black longsword that seemed to be forged from the same stone as this very structure. Runes seemed to burn along its length as he thrust it into the Astartes warrior, blade punching through power armour without resistance and coming out the other side, spraying those behind in a rain of blood. Inhuman strength… The body of the Astartes warrior fell to the bloodstained floor with a crash and his helmet came off, rolling away into the mass of battling bodies. 'Iovius…'

Verian felt a surge of hatred as he saw one of his oldest comrades fall; Iovius, who had been elevated to Sergeant when he'd been promoted to Captain of the Twentieth company. They'd fought together on so many fronts together, battled side by side against every type of enemy the Imperium had encountered…and now he was gone. Battle raged all around him but Verian's fury carried him in one direction alone, ignoring the fighting that didn't directly influence him. He wielded his sword two-handed, cleaving one Aretan in half from shoulder to waist, spinning and kicking another with enough force to crush his breastplate and ribcage.

The commander saw him coming, watched his progress as he struck left and right, each blow driven by rage, lending strength that decapitated each time an Aretan sought to hinder him. His boots stamped down on those two lay dying at his feet, finished them off lest their unnatural constitution allow them to rise again. Bolt pistol levelled, he opened fire riddling his enemy with explosive rounds before casting it aside and lunging, a mighty leap that carried him several metres forward, sword levelled.

Their swords met, Terran-forged steel against black rune sword. Astartes-enhanced muscle met inhuman, decaying muscle and sinew. They struck again and again, each time sparks flying as they blocked and parried back and forth. Verian snarled, lashing out with his fist, a powered strike that sent the commander stumbling despite his resilience. He struck once, twice, his power sword gouging two deep holes into the enemy's rotting flesh, crackling flames blazing through black armour and ripping into the torso. The man grunted, a very suppressed sound when considering the magnitude of the wounds. A yellowish, viscous fluid flowed from the gaping holes.

With a wet sound, Verian wrenched his sword free, ducking beneath a two-handed swing and driving his blade upwards, splitting the man's head down the centre. Wrenching down, he parted the body in two, foul-smelling entrails spilling out across the polished black floor. Still caught up in his killing frenzy, he lashed out again, decapitating the nearest Aretans as they drew too near, sword cleaving through decayed flesh and bone without stopping.

He whirled around, beheading one black armoured giant, continuing in the same spin and taking down another at the knees, reversing his sword and plunging it down through man's skull. All around him, Imperial Fists took heart from his example, redoubling their efforts and hurling the Aretans aside, bolters firing at point-blank range and slashing left and right with their combat blades. His sword was alive in his hands, a force of destruction as Verian advanced, step by step, scything a path through the mass of blackness, leaving a trail of blood and corpses in his wake.

Despite the overwhelming numbers, the Imperial forces pressed up, driving a wedge deep into the Aretan ranks. Kesian was suddenly at Verian's side, his thunder hammer swinging around in a great arc that pulped several bodies in one fell blow, hurling their remains into the faces of the enemy behind them. With terminators moving to the forth, their power-armoured brethren guarding their flanks, the Astartes drove their way towards the vast door that barred their way to the ruler of this corrupted planet. The Sisters darted in and out of both ranks, hacking and slashing with their powered blades and letting loose hails of bolt rounds and flames from hand flamers.

Kesian swung his thunder hammer in a mighty arc and the obsidian portal shattered, crumbling and collapsing, great chunks of stone crushing Aretan soldiers around them. They were in… With a roar, the battle cry tearing from the throats of almost two hundred Astartes warriors, they piled in, trampling black armoured foes under foot as they stood in their way.

There, on a raised dais, the lord of Aretus Beta stood; a tall figure, as large as an Astartes warrior and suited in black iron and robed in shadows. In one clawed and mailed fist, he held a massive sword, black stone engraved with fell runes, which writhed with ethereal energies. As the Imperial soldiers burst into the chamber, his helmeted head seemed to swing around and lock on to Verian, burning embers for eyes within the dark metal. All around him, his guards surrounded him, still more heavily armoured and imposing. The stench of decay struck Verian as he advanced and fought down the revulsion he felt as to what could lurk beneath the armour.

"For the Emperor!" With a war cry, the Astartes surged forward, meeting the guard with flashing blades and swinging bolters. The Aretans closed tight to form a wall of metal and flesh between them and their lord, holding firm as the Imperial Fists struck their line, casual sweeps of energised halberds curving through Terran power armour like paper. Power fists punched Aretans off their feet and chainswords slashed in bloody arcs, decapitating traitors, even as bright yellow battle plate gave way before piercing obsidian blades.

The path taken by the Imperials was littered with corpses, a sea of yellow and black left in their wake. Still, the carnage wrought in the lord's chamber was far greater than what they had endured and enacted up to that point. Verian's yellow plate was stained red by the blood of his enemies, the surface scarred from attacks it had turned away in his furious charge. His sword was starting to feel heavy in his hands and he had lost count of the number of enemies he had struck down, the battle a single merged blur of bloodletting. His body was moving on instinct now, reverting to the endless hours of training to move him through the motions that parried blows aside and lash out in counters to take off the heads of his enemies or drive his blade through their chest.

Ahead, a lone Sister of Silence vaulted over the wall of black iron, sprinting towards the Aretan lord. Two of his guardians closed in but her sword flashed, a cold flash of blue-tinged energy that felled them effortlessly. She bounded gracefully over a low halberd strike, taking the man's head off with a careless backwards swipe before her boots touched the stone floor. One reached for her, clawed hand seizing her by the helmet, fist closing around the long red plume of hair on the top. It came free, revealing the face of Lady Jaina, her eyes burning with rage, teeth drawn in a silent snarl.

Her boot caught the offending guard in the chest, followed by an armoured strike to the man's throat, dropping him, the breath stolen from his lungs. A looming shadow fell across her. She spun around, just as the lord's sword flashed down, the blade as long as her body. Jaina dived, evading the sword, which split the earth in half where she'd stood a second before. Two more strikes, desperately parried. Jaina weaved back and forth, her sword a blur as she evaded and countered, the lord's speed impossibly fast considering his size. Each blow caused the whole chamber to reverberate with violent clashes.

Verian looked around to see how the battle was going. It seemed a drawn conflict so far, even numbers of Imperial Fists and Aretan elite guard. Kesian was locked in combat with a warrior with gold runes embellished upon his armour and wielding a mighty glaive, recognisable as the leader of the Aretan praetorians. Their movements were almost too fast to follow, their weapons flashing back and forth, slaying lesser warriors all around them without breaking step. Lady Laurana, Oblivion Knight of the Silent Sisterhood, guarded the Tenth captain's back, her sword carving a bloody ruin in all the guards that drew within striking distance.

High on the raised dais, Jaina was still clashing with the lord. She wielded her sword two-handed, meeting each blow head one, stumbling under the force of each strike from the heavy runeblade. As they blades met, the obsidian blade flared, runes glowing with a bloody glow. Jaina's face was illuminated by the icy chill of her own sword, pale blue energy seething from the core of the weapon. But the might of her blade and her own considerable swordsmanship was being overwhelmed by the sheer strength of her foe. As Verian watched, a heavy slash hurled her back, her sword slipping from her hand as she fell.

Verian charged, sword levelled in both hands. He shoulder-rammed his way past Aretan warriors, taking the stairs up to the raised platform two at a time. This close, he found that the lord of Aretus Beta truly was a giant, standing a head and shoulders over Verian himself. The man stood with one boot placed on Jaina's chest, pinning her to the floor, his sword raised high to deliver the finishing blow. He leaned heavily on the one foot holding Jaina down and the Sister opened her mouth in a silent cry of agony.

The runes on the sword seemed to burn with even more intense light as if sensing the impending death. With a roar, the lord stabbed down, blade punching down with enough force to shatter terminator armour. Two bounds and Verian lunged forward, power sword arcing around to behead the Aretan ruler. He gritted his teeth, eyes narrowed in fury. At the last moment, the giant spun, sword knocking aside his attack and shattering his helmet with a glancing blow that dropped the Imperial Fist captain.

The ceramite protection crumbled, suddenly exposing Verian's face to the open, blood in his mouth, a trickle running down the side of his face from where his forehead had been opened up. Even then, the force of the Astartes continued onwards, driving into the warrior and forcing them both to the ground. Blood ran into Verian's eyes, staining his vision red. His hand felt his sword, lifting it only to find it split, half the blade snapped off by the force of the runesword. He was on top of the lord of Aretus Beta, both lying there where he had tackled him. Acting on instinct, Verian reversed his grip on the weapon, punching down with it before his enemy could react.

Blackened blood spilled out as the remnants of the sword sank into the throat of the lord of Aretus Beta. He opened his mouth to scream but the gaping hole in his neck left his cry as silent as that of Jaina's. Eyes locked on to Verian's own and for a moment, he thought he could see beyond the burning gaze, into the mind of… Something far older than even this world… Then the traitor's eyes closed and it was over. Or at least that's what Verian thought…

The earth rumbled. Verian's brow furrowed. What was happening…? He looked over and met Jaina's gaze where she lay, wounded. Then her eyes widened in shock and the earth gave a roar as the dais split down the centre, fissures running from end to end. There were shouts of alarm from all around them. The ground rocked and debris began to fall from the cracking ceiling. Kesian was shouting his name, telling him to get clear. Imperial Fists were pulling back, withdrawing back to the entrance. This place was going to hell…

Verian staggered over to Jaina. He made to help her up so they could get out of there…when the dais opened up beneath them both and they were both plunged into the depths of Aretus Beta to the shouts of warriors and the howls of daemons.


End file.
